


faster than the speed of sound

by Engineer104



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fairs and the food that goes with it, Fear of roller coasters, Friendship, M/M, Motion Sickness, Physics, Roller Coasters, friends making you do things you don't want to, jeaneren is more of an undertone/what-if sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is afraid of roller coasters.</p><p>Strangely, Eren helps make it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	faster than the speed of sound

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't beta this. Oops.
> 
> Also, I jumped aboard this ship a week ago; I have no regrets... Probably.
> 
> This isn't even particularly shippy, but lots of hinting and stuff.

Sometimes, Jean really _hated_ his friends.

Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but they definitely aggravated him to no end.  Sasha tugged on his arm towards the booths selling fried Twinkies, and Connie shoved him at the impossible-to-win games with giant, cheap prizes hanging overhead.

When they finally took a break and just _sat_ at the base of a palm tree, he leaned his head back and rubbed his wind-scrubbed face.  It was past noon, the sun beating down relentlessly, and he was sure he’d have the complexion of a tomato by the end of the day.

Jean glanced towards where Sasha and Connie sat with a funnel cake, piled high with powdered sugar, between them.  They were supposed to be “sharing” it, but Sasha dug in more consistently than Connie, who flicked clumps of sugar at her instead, making her giggle between bites.

Despite himself, he smiled at the sight, even if he envied their coupley happiness, even if he couldn’t really imagine himself acting cute and mushy with anyone, not even the lovely Mikasa Ackerman.

His stomach growled unpleasantly, and he glared down at it, as if that would curb his hunger.  All he’d eaten since breakfast was a tray of greasy chili fries, and that had been split three ways between himself, Connie, and Sasha.  Then again, it was probably better that he keep his stomach empty, considering the conversation he was overhearing:

“First thing’s first,” Sasha announced, “we’re going on _all_ the gut-wrenching rides.”

“Fuck yeah,” Connie agreed eagerly, fist pumping.

Jean groaned, preemptively mourning his clear head, steady legs, and still stomach.

Sasha, apparently hearing him, chuckled.  “Oh, right, I forgot that Jean gets sick.”  She leaned across Connie to better peer at him and smirked.

“I don’t get sick,” Jean lied, turning his head to face her.  “I just don’t like it when it feels like my stomach is in my throat.”

“Jean honey, I don’t need to be a doctor to tell you that that’s _motion sickness_.”

Jean rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the increasing heat on his face; as if the sun alone wasn’t enough. . .

“All right, we won’t force you onto anything,” Connie said, tone suspiciously thoughtful.

“Connie!” Sasha exclaimed reproachfully, smacking his shoulder.

Jean sighed with relief; he knew he could refuse them, duck into the bathroom while they went wild with the spinning, but they were both obstinate fuckers and he didn’t want to deal with their shenanigans.

“But dude, you _have_ to ride Terminal Velocity with us,” Connie enthused, exchanging evil grins with Sasha.

“ _Fuck_ no,” Jean whined.  Terminal Velocity was the only true roller coaster at Rose County Fair, and notoriously unsafe; there were rumors that someone had fallen to their death from the top of the loop the previous year.  Ordinary injuries, like whiplash, were much more common and definitely still undesirable.

“No, say ‘fuck _yes_ ’,” Sasha commanded, grabbing his wrist and digging her fingernails into his skin.

“Hey, let go!” Jean demanded, pulling his arm away from her.

She did, but then hopped right over Connie to squat in front of him.  “Come one,” she said, practically leering at him.

“No.”

“ _Jean,_ ” she sang, placing her hands on his knees and sticking her nose in his face so that they were eye to eye.

“No fucking way, Sasha,” Jean grumbled, nudging her uncomfortably close head away.

She rolled with the motion and faced Connie.  “He’s no fun,” she told her boyfriend.

Connie nodded sagely, narrowing his eyes at Jean.  “You’re no fun, man,” he accused, pointing a finger at him.

“I am when fucking _roller coasters_ aren’t involved,” Jean muttered, rolling his eyes.  It was a blatant lie, though; he was never any fun and he fucking _knew_ it.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Connie said, a huge, conniving smile on his face.

“That’s not even the right context,” he retorted mutinously, mostly to himself as neither monkey paid him much mind

“Hey, Jean,” Sasha said, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes, “if you go on Terminal Velocity with us, I’ll make you two batches of peanut butter cookies.”

Jean eyed her, considering.  Her cookies were undoubtedly delicious, but were they worth it?

“And I’ll even talk you up to Mikasa,” she added, raising an eyebrow at him.  “Whaddya say?”

He grimaced and stared at his feet, stretched out in front of him.  “I hate you.”  Then, he stood up in one motion, head reeling with sudden dizziness; if he couldn’t _stand_ without his balance being compromised, how the fuck was he supposed to survive a rickety roller coaster from hell?

Sasha sprung up immediately, with Connie following a little slower.  She clutched Jean’s elbow, and, clearly not discouraged when he shook her off, crowed triumphantly, “I knew you’d see the light.”

“That’s not light,” he complained.  “That’s _hellfire_.”

“Don’t be a drama queen, dude,” Connie consoled, with a mock-comforting pat to his shoulder.

. . .

“Why the fuck are there so many people risking death?” Jean demanded after standing in line for a half hour.

“Because this many people know that they’re not gonna die on a roller coaster,” Connie replied nonchalantly.  “Probably,” he added as he glanced around at the other fairgoers’ faces, which ranged from excitement to boredom to barely concealed panic to absolute terror.

Jean leant against the aisle’s railing, wishing he was at Disneyland, where they at least sprayed the waiters with mist when it was ridiculously hot (which was pretty much all the time because fucking _California_ ).  Then again, Jean’s pathetic digestive system could at least handle everything Disneyland dished out, even the fucking Tower of Terror.

Huh, terror.  He and Terror were currently becoming well-acquainted.  He supposed their favorite color was probably green, like his face would be after the ride (if he survived).

He tapped his fingers agitatedly against the railing, staring at his dusty sneakers, barely listening to his friends’ idle chatter about whatever other rides they had left and whatever other deep-fried sweets they still wanted to try (all of them, probably).  He reached up and wiped the sweat from his forehead, wishing he had a cool water bottle to press against his hot skin.

Jean glanced up when Sasha squealed, and his stomach immediately clenched in anticipation.  An attendant loaded the cars, and too soon, he, she, and Connie were at the front of the line.

“We’re riding in the front!” she announced eagerly, glaring at Connie as if he would dare to disagree with her.

But they were two peas in a fucking pod, so naturally, he nodded before all the words even left her mouth.

“I’m not,” he protested with a scowl.

“Oh, Jean, you’re so lucky,” Sasha said, patting his shoulder.

“What?”  Jean gaped at her.  “How the fuck is riding on this deathtrap _lucky_?”

“Two seats per car,” Connie informed him, flashing a grin while he held up two fingers.

“Ooh, there they go,” Sasha hissed, waving at the passengers as the coaster zipped past, wheels rattling in an unpleasant cacophony against the tracks.

(Jean hoped to God that reddish-brown stuff wasn’t rust. . .)

“So you dragged me along so you could fucking _ditch_ me?” Jean accused.

Sasha spun around to stare at him.  “Jean, we’re not _ditching_ you,” she said, her tone almost condescending, which was shocking; she never did condescending.  “You’ll just have a cart to yourself.  Room to stretch.”  She grinned, as if that was the best news in the world.

It wasn’t.  “No, it’s a fucking _roller coaster_ of _death_ ,” Jean protested irritably.  “I’m going to squeeze myself into a fucking _ball_ so that my organs stay where they belong.”

“You’re overreacting, dude,” Connie said, rolling his eyes.

Jean groaned, bringing his palm to his forehead.

“Aaand it’s back!” Sasha sang, perching on the railing and leaning across it.  One of the attendants, a short, bored-looking blonde girl, glared at her until she stepped down.

The train pulled into the station, the hydraulics of the brakes kicking in with a puff and a harsh jerk.  Jean rubbed his neck, already feeling a sort of phantom whiplash, while his stomach did somersaults.

The riders climbed out, most of them unsteady on their feet as they collected their belongings and left; some of them looked cheerful and excited, still high off of an adrenaline rush, while others seemed shell-shocked.

Jean decided he’d belong to the latter group.

Another attendant came by and opened the gate.  Connie and Sasha all but sprinted past him to the front; Jean, unable to resist grumbling and swearing under his breath, followed at a more sedate rate and, wondering if he had some latent death wish, took the cart behind them.

It was a simple bench, wide enough for two, with nothing but a metal bar for a seatbelt.  While he waited for the ride to begin, he thought of all the physical phenomena that might bring him comfort:  centripetal force, kinetic friction, normal force. . .

Then Jean remembered that this was undoubtedly a shitty coaster, one that went _upside-down_ no less, and that things like gravity existed.

“Oh, hey, Jean,” a loud, familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Fuck my life,” he hissed under his breath, turning his head to see none other than Eren Jaeger standing beside the cart.

“I’m sitting here,” Eren announced, sliding onto the seat beside Jean.

“What, no other losers sitting by themselves on this shit-storm of a ride?” Jean demanded facetiously.

“Nope,” Eren responded cheerfully.  Then, he frowned, tugging the “safety” bar down as far as it would go.  “It’s not like you’re my first choice.”

“I’m so flattered,” Jean muttered ironically, rolling his eyes.

Eren scowled at him, and Jean scowled back.

Connie, sitting in front of them, turned his head.  “Eren!” he exclaimed, grinning widely.  “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Ha, yeah, I managed to convince Armin and Mikasa,” he explained, returning the smile.

“Why aren’t you riding with one of _them_?” Jean inquired with barely suppressed irritation.

“Maybe because they’re riding with _each other_?” Eren suggested, shooting a glare at him.

“Why can’t I have been stuck with one of them,” Jean bemoaned quietly.

Eren elbowed him in the side.  “You could at least _try_ to be nice.”

“Hey, fuck off,” Jean said, jabbing his own elbow into Eren’s ribs.

“Fuck, you’re bony,” Eren observed, grabbing Jean’s wrist and stretching his arm out and poking at the offending joint.  His fingers were pleasantly warm against his already-hot skin, surprisingly.

Jean didn’t dwell too much on that thought, instead wrenching his arm away from Eren with a sharp glare, right as the carts kicked into motion.

“Ah, fuck,” he swore quietly as it sped up.

“What, don’t like roller coasters?” Eren wondered, tone openly curious, rather than mocking as Jean might’ve expected.

He pinched his eyes shut as it suddenly slowed, approaching the first climb, and nodded in acknowledgement of Eren’s question.  He dimly registered the creaking of the wheels on the tracks and the spinning of the gears, Connie’s and Sasha’s giddy whoops from up front, and the squeal of a girl that probably regretted getting on the ride as much as Jean did.

He shouldn’t have let his friends talk him into this; Sasha’s peanut butter cookies and the promise of Mikasa maybe thinking better of him were not _nearly_ enough compensation.

He flinched when he suddenly felt something pressed against the side of his foot, opening his eyelids a crack to see it was just Eren’s shoe.  He turned his head to see him practically lounging beside him, leaning back comfortably, body tilted so that he faced Jean slightly.  Their knees were almost touching too, and Jean’s heart thumped strongly, and he doubted it was just from the anxiety-inducing ride.

Eren raised an inquiring eyebrow, a corner of his mouth tilting up into a half-smile.  “Forget you were nervous?” he asked, tone almost teasing.

“How are you so relaxed?” he wondered.  “This thing is a piece of shit.”

“Maybe that’s part of the fun, huh?”  He grinned, green eyes glinting.

“You’re a suicidal bastard,” Jean accused, almost forgetting his nerves while Eren rolled his eyes.

The train dipped downwards, and Jean’s stomach went with it right as it picked up speed.  He shut his eyes again, preferring to only feel the rush of air, hear Sasha’s happy screams and Connie’s laughter, catch whiffs of unhealthy fair food and sweat and what was probably Eren.

“Fuck,” he cursed when the cart jerked to the right, the momentum causing him to fall into Eren.

“Hey, get off,” Eren demanded, shoving him away.

Jean couldn’t obey fast enough, but next time it took a hard turn, Eren was crashing into _him_.

“Ah, shit,” Eren gasped as their foreheads knocked together.  “ _Fuck_.”

“Now you see why I don’t like coasters,” Jean grumbled, rubbing at his throbbing head.

He clutched the safety bar tightly, making sure his feet stayed perfectly planted on the floor, and the train tipped upwards, up, up, up. . .

. . .and down, down, down.

Jean groaned, already feeling the effects of motion sickness as the carts exited the loop.  He shut out the sounds of screaming and cheering, and, when the brakes suddenly kicked in with a squealing of metal on metal, his whole body jerked, his back connecting painfully against the cart.

He opened his eyes to see the station pulling in, or rather the train pulling into the station.  He shook his head, trying to clear it, right as the carts came to a shuddering stop.

The safety bar sprung up, and he stood immediately, almost tripping in his eagerness to get out.  His mind and stomach reeled, and grabbed the railing and doubled over, clutching at his abdomen, half-wishing and half-dreading that his breakfast and miserable lunch wanted to retrace their steps out of his body.

Finally, when he was sure he wasn’t about to vomit, Jean straightened, clutching his still-aching head, and looked around.  He caught sight of Sasha and Connie chatting animatedly to Armin and Mikasa; he wondered where Eren was. . .

“You okay?”

Jean flinched, and spun around to see Eren standing behind him.  His breath caught, taking in his windswept brown hair and bright eyes.  He scowled, then relaxed his expression into neutrality.  “Yeah,” he replied with a curt nod.

“Good,” Eren said, offering him a slight smile.  “For a second, I was worried you were gonna hurl.”

“Whatever,” Jean muttered, confused that Eren would be worried about him.  Well, Eren always confused him, so it wasn’t so unusual.

“Anyway, you survived,” Eren continued as if Jean hadn’t said anything.  “Congrats.”

“Mm,” Jean hummed, glancing at him in surprise at the lack of irony in his tone.

Eren met his eyes, his lips turning down in a slight frown.  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”  Jean’s heart sped up again, for some reason; the rush of exhilaration and fear that accompanied a roller coaster should’ve abated by then.

“Like. . .I don’t know.”  He shrugged, breaking eye contact and peering around.  He waved.

Jean followed his gaze to see Armin waving back; the short blonde jogged over, Mikasa, Sasha, and Connie just behind him.

“Hey,” he said with a bright smile.  “You’re not fighting.”

“We don’t always fight,” Eren scoffed.

“Just most of the time,” Mikasa offered, raising a perfect black eyebrow.

“Yeah, well. . .”  Eren shrugged, looking sheepish.

Jean glanced between the two of them, staring long enough at him that he once more met his gaze, green eyes widening.  “There’s nothing to fight about now,” he told them.

Mikasa simply rolled her eyes, but Armin said, “That’s great.”

“Hey, you guys want to come with us on the next ride?” Connie asked Eren and company.

He nodded, barely exchanging glances with Armin, who grinned, and Mikasa, who shrugged.  So Connie led the way to a different attraction, those three just behind him, while Jean and Sasha lingered a few paces behind.

“Now’s the time for me to make good on my bribe, huh?” Sasha offered teasingly.

Jean shrugged.  At the moment, he wasn’t too fussed; besides, he was still shaky from the roller coaster and the last thing he needed was to make a fool of himself in front of Mikasa.

“So, Jean,” Connie called from his position as ringleader, “have you decided to grow a backbone and ride a bit more?”

“No fucking way,” Jean retorted.

When Connie and Eren broke into guffaws, Jean scowled.

. . .

They spent the next two hours riding everything that twirled, spun, jerked, and flipped – except Jean, who sat to the side, holding Sasha’s purse and Connie’s dumb sunglasses.

Armin offered to keep him company a few times, but he refused.  Sure, Jean was a baby when it came to fair rides – which, let’s be serious, once you’ve been on one, you’ve been on them all – but he didn’t want to take away from anyone else’s fun.

Then, to his utter amazement, Eren declared that he’d had enough and perched beside him.

They crouched in silence for the first few minutes, watching their friends chatting and giggling in the line.  Then, Eren commented, “They’re all pretty much the same thing.”

Jean grunted.

“I mean, even _my_ head hurts now; I feel like the ground is trying to swallow me or something.”  He laughed at his own words, nudging Jean in the side.

Rather than shrinking away from the invasive touch, Jean offered him a slight smile.  “Join the club.”

Eren relaxed, leaning against the wall behind them and stretching out his legs, crossing his ankles neatly, while Jean simply stayed crouching, his legs up to his chest and his chin on his knees.  “So does your fear of roller coasters stem from an unpleasant childhood experience, or. . .?”

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

Eren glanced away, shrugging.  “Maybe I’m just curious.”

“Nosy jackass,” Jean mumbled.

Eren rolled his eyes, then leaned a little towards him.  “It’s a fine line between curiosity and nosiness,” he told him.

“Whatever.”

“Hey, I’m _trying_ to be nice,” Eren complained.

“I noticed,” Jean retorted, “but maybe I’m just not interested.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because we don’t get along.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t _start_ ,” Eren pointed out mutinously.  “I mean, if you end up dating Mikasa or something. . .”  He cut himself off, as if the thought was too unpleasant to contemplate.

Jean shot him a surprised look.  “What, you think I have a chance?” he wondered, but not nearly as eagerly as he might once have.

“Fuck no,” Eren said with a wry smile.  “She’d sooner date me, and I’m her adopted brother.”  Then, as a sort of afterthought:  “ _And_ I’m gay.”

Jean jerked his head up as if he’d been shocked – which he kind of had.  “Did you just come out to me?”

Eren’s grin turned cheerful.  “Yep.”

“Do _they_ know?”  Jean jerked his head back towards their friends, but by “they”, he mostly meant Mikasa and Armin.

Eren frowned.  “No,” he admitted.  “I’ve just come to terms with it, to be honest.”  He stared at his hands.

“Huh,” Jean said.  “I’m. . .surprised that you’d tell _me_ , of all people.”

“Me too,” Eren said, looking up and meeting Jean’s eyes, “but I figured, even though you don’t particularly like me, you’re not the sort that would out me.”

Jean shook his head.  “No, ‘course not.”

Eren grinned and clutched Jean’s shoulder.  “Good.”

They fell silent again, with Eren letting his hand drop to the ground between them.  They both stared blankly forward, and every once in a while, Jean darted his eyes sideways to peek at Eren, at his dark-but-flushed skin and thoughtful, pseudo-angry expression.

He was sure Eren was doing the same to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/concrit are plenty welcome! (Especially if you clamor for a sequel, ahem.)
> 
> My tumblr: stereotypedebunker
> 
> Hmm, I should try to write something from Eren's perspective...


End file.
